


the endless in-between

by tardigradeschool



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Nightmares, Post Ep 30, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, just some gals cuddlin...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigradeschool/pseuds/tardigradeschool
Summary: Jester keeps having these terrible dreams. Not the kind of scary dreams that jolt her awake in the middle of the night, breathless as much with fear as with laughter at her own alarm. No, she sleeps through to the end of the dream, only to wake with a bitter taste in her mouth and an odd feeling in her stomach that doesn't go away until she sees the team safe and whole.Beau humors her; she lets Jester clamber into her bed sometimes, when the feeling in her stomach is too awful to wait until the morning.





	the endless in-between

**Author's Note:**

> title from "wait it out" by imogen heap

Jester keeps having these terrible dreams. Not the kind of scary dreams that jolt her awake in the middle of the night, breathless as much with fear as with laughter at her own alarm. No, she sleeps through to the end of the dream, only to wake with a bitter taste in her mouth and an odd feeling in her stomach that doesn't go away until she sees the team safe and whole.

Beau humors her; she lets Jester clamber into her bed sometimes, when the feeling in her stomach is too awful to wait until the morning. If nothing else, having Beau's warm, bony body pressed against Jester's back assures her that one of them is present and alive. Jester only cries in Beau’s arms once, so overcome with relief and lingering nausea that she can't stop herself. In a moment of uncharacteristic tact, Beau doesn't say a thing, just lets Jester bury her face in her neck and scritches Jester's hair right at the base of her skull until the tight spot in Jester's chest eases. 

But the next time Jester climbs into bed beside her, four or five days later, Beau looks at her with eyes flattened by the darkness and says, "What do you even dream about?" 

Jester knows by now not to take Beau's bluntness personally -- not that Jester is easy to offend. "It's nothing," Jester says, burrowing a little closer so she doesn't have to look Beau in the eye. Beau usually sleeps on her back, and Jester on her stomach or side, so she ends up putting an arm over Beau’s ribcage and cuddling up with her face in Beau’s shoulder. She smells good, like sweat and soap. "It's just dreams, I mean. I have crazy dreams all the time. Maybe not as crazy as Fjord, but like... pretty wild."

"I meant--" Beau sighs sharply, the way she does when she knows she’s said something the wrong way but not what the right way is. "I meant that if you, you know. Wanted to talk about it. You could. With me."

Jester appreciates Beau very deeply in this moment. It would be so easy for Beau not to try, and because it is Beau offering, Jester knows she probably means it. Jester is wrung out from the day as well as the dreams, and so she starts telling Beau without really meaning to. 

Jester tells her about Fjord silhouetted in a wave, limp but held in place by the fish hook in his mouth, hooked just below his Adam's apple and his blood black in the water. Caleb, bound and burning, eyes closed, making no motion against the ropes or the fire and no noise at all, though his long neck strains up and his face twists in pain. Caduceus, with mushrooms and dandelions growing up and out of and through his rotting chest cavity. And Nott-- and this is when it hits Jester, the awfulness of the things she is saying, and she shuts her mouth quickly.

Jester can feel Beau’s heart speed up a little because one of her ears is pressed against Beau’s chest, but Beau keeps breathing evenly. 

Several long moments pass before Beau asks, “Is it all of us? Like, did you dream about me dying?” Her voice is neither accusatory nor too gentle, which Jester is glad for. 

Jester shakes her head under Beau’s chin. “Beau,” she says.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Beau says. “I’m just -- I was curious. You won’t -- I mean, you won’t scare me off or anything.”

Jester takes a deep breath from her belly, which is what her mother always told her to do when her brain couldn’t keep up with itself. “Okay,” she says. “But you are not allowed to kick me out of the bed after.”

“Promise,” Beau says, calmly enough that Jester is pretty sure Beau isn’t making fun of her. Beau’s fingers stroke absentmindedly against Jester’s back, just above the nightgown, tracing over Jester’s exposed vertebrae. Her fingertips are calloused and her wrist is warm where it rests on Jester’s shoulder. Another night, that might be enough to put Jester to sleep. 

“Okay,” Jester says again, and she tells Beau about the Beau in her dream trying and failing to lift herself off the floor after a particularly nasty fight in the corner of some pub, about the way she had simply curled her broken fingers around her bruised stomach and let her head fall back and how the last bits of life had dripped out of her like beer from the sticky stein abandoned on its side next to her. Jester splays her fingers for emphasis as she talks, momentarily distracted from the actual words she’s saying by the ease with which they leave her mouth.

“Wow,” Beau says when Jester is done. “Gross.”

“Yes,” Jester agrees, and for the first time since their conversation began she chances a look up at Beau’s face. Beau looks neither shocked nor horrified, which Jester takes as a good sign. “Are you going to make me leave?”

“Nah, dude,” Beau says. “I mean, we all gotta deal with shit somehow, right? It's normal to, you know, process it. You don't have to feel bad about feeling bad sometimes, is what I'm saying.”

Jester squints at her. “I guess.”

“I mean, you’re not having, like, prophetic visions or anything. Right?” Beau asks. “Because then it would be a lot more immediately concerning. I mean, uh. Not that I’m not concerned about you. You know I -- ugh. Do you want me to be concerned about you?”

“I really don’t think they're visions,” Jester says, scrunching up her face. “The Traveler is cryptic sometimes, but not like that. We mostly just talk or hang out together.” 

“Good,” Beau says. She yawns. “That’s good, I guess. Although I guess it means that stuff is all just sort of up in your brain.”

“Mama always said I had an overactive imagination,” Jester says.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Beau says. Jester makes a face. “You should probably just get some sleep. Normal sleep. We’ve got time.”

“Okay,” Jester says agreeably. She grins. “And I might as well just stay here, right?”

Beau shifts over to her side with a grunt. “Sure. But you’re the big spoon.”

Jester scooches up behind her and hides her smile in the back of Beau’s neck. “Thank you, Beau,” she sing-songs in Beau’s ear. 

“Shut up,” Beau mumbles. She always knows just what to say.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all ever get emotional about jester's ability to pretend everything is okay? and how that might backfire sometimes?


End file.
